


the last true mouthpiece

by alongthewatchtower



Series: let me give you my life [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Emotional Manipulation, FaceFucking, Intersex Credence, Lingerie, Percival Graves is Not a Nice Person, Power Imbalance, gratuitous use of the word cunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 07:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10589574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongthewatchtower/pseuds/alongthewatchtower
Summary: Omega Graves looks up at the Director, all love and devotion, and Graves’ mouth hints at a smirk as he puts a hand on that slim waist and guides his mate into his office.





	

 

 

Albert Pemberton doesn’t have a mate of his own. Not yet, anyway. He’s not exactly looking, not ready to settle down just yet, it’s much easier to sweet talk cute little things into his bed being a dashing young Auror, no pressure to come home to the same one every night.

Maybe he’ll wait until he’s Director Graves’ age - established, powerful in his own right, when he’s done his time as a rising star and settled in to upper management. Maybe a Squad Leader position. Maybe even Chief Auror. Percival Graves, Head of the DMLE, Director of Magical Security, waited until he was in his early forties. Not that that’s old, for wixen, the Director is a man just approaching his prime. 

Being mated has mellowed the Director slightly, except on days like this one, with two botched raids just this morning and a surveillance op spoiled by somebody’s big mouth. Graves had raked the Chief Auror and two Hit Squads over the coals not an hour ago, in that quiet, terrifying way of his. The man radiates power - and menace, when he means to - all contained Alpha fury. He isn’t a man who needs to work to show his dominance, that’s for sure. It’s a bit of a wonder, really, that when the man did take a mate, it was one so obviously sweet and gentle.

 

It seems to have worked out well for him, though, Pemberton muses, watching the gorgeous young omega sidle his way out of the elevator and onto the DMLE floor proper. He ducks his head, shy, greeting a few people as he bypasses the chaos of the bullpen, polite and demure. Omega Graves is a perfect little thing, impeccably dressed and well-mannered, rubies at his throat catching the light as he nods politely at Goldstein, who natters on about something or other. He's not perturbed at all by the way she trails after him to the Director’s office, pauses on the threshold to speak to her. It’s not until the Director appears in the doorway, eyebrow raised, that Goldstein gets the message and turns red and disappears so fast you’d think she Apparated. 

 

Omega Graves looks up at the Director, all love and devotion, and Graves’ mouth hints at a smirk as he puts a hand on that slim waist and guides his mate into his office. 

When the door shuts and the walls of the office shimmer briefly with rising wards, nobody is surprised. That’s another reason Pemberton should have a title and a position and an _office_  by the time he mates - maybe his future-underlings will appreciate when his mate comes in for lunch and leaves him in a much better mood after too.

*

Credence is a frequent visitor to MACUSA, these days.

Now he’s properly attired, properly spoken, now he has a wand of his own and is quickly devouring all of Percival’s Ilvermorny texts, supplementing his reading from the extensive Graves library, he ventures out into wix New York often, so very pleased when Graves can meet him for lunch, or when he receives a blunt summons to the Woolworth.

Credence receives a continuing education in the ways of polite society from the portrait of Percival’s great-great grandmother, which puts him slightly behind the times when it comes to modern wizarding mores but the guidance and lessons from Amarantha Graves simply allow him to present himself as from a strict, traditional upbringing, rather than a no-maj one. He’s been thoroughly accepted into the tea circle of the Graves family, a close group of betas and omegas who delight in taking him shopping and to the occasional salon visit. Credence has adapted to fit among them quite well, shy and soft-spoken, not a threat to anyone’s social standing or position within the family despite being the mate of Percival Graves, firstborn son of the main line and head of the family. He’s successfully hosted, with Millicent’s help and a thorough sheaf of notes from conversations with Amarantha’s portrait, his first family dinner.

 

The gallery in the portrait hall at the estate are ever so keen to give him tips on how to pronounce the spells from Percival’s old textbooks, and generations of Graves mates have taught him little charms for house and home and body, Graves often returning to the penthouse of an evening at the same time as Credence, ever so keen to show off the not-so-schoolboy curse he’s just learned. His little mate has a surprising amount of power, something Graves has begun to harness of his own accord, a surety at his back every time he raises his wand, their arcane vows allowing him to draw from his omega as desired.

 

When he’s upset, or angry - as he was when one of the ladies at the get-together of DMLE wives and partners complained bitterly about _that Director Graves_  being a vicious taskmaster, and implying that Percival was _obviously not being satisfied at home_ and subsequently took it out on his employees - there’s a wonderful wild magic that positively curls off him. Credence Graves had politely excused himself from the offending conversation, promptly Flooed to the estate, and demolished a whole section of hedges with one blasting curse. He’d been shocked and panicked when Percival Apparated in, having felt a disturbance in the wards, and was relieved when Percival laughed, and took his polite, loyal little mate right there on the manicured grass, hedges still smouldering in places.

 

It’s far more than Graves ever dreamed the skinny, desperate waif of a boy stinking up a no-maj alley with heat-scent could ever become. Oh, he’d pictured Credence like this, demure and poised when he’s not being utterly filthy in Percival’s bed, but Credence is so desperate to please he’s gone above and beyond to make himself into the perfect omega spouse, a lanky, downtrodden caterpillar emerging as a graceful, obedient little butterfly.

 

Graves’ little butterfly sits right down on his lap once he’s escorted into the office, biting his lip as his fingers curl around the shiny buttons of his long coat, still completely buttoned.

 

“Do you have something to show me, my darling?"

 

Credence nods, blushing. “A present,” he says.

 

“I suppose I shall best unwrap it, then,” Graves replies, and his omega shivers when Graves undoes the top button of his fine coat.

 

Credence is practically trembling with nervous excitement, and Graves draws it out, slowly making his way down the line of buttons until he can see the shirt beneath. And, more importantly, see what’s underneath it. 

 

Something red.

 

“No waistcoat, my dear?” Graves says casually, and curls his fingers around opposite sides of Credence’s shirt. “How naughty,” he adds, and rips the shirt open. The buttons give easily, some pinging off in directions unknown, but Graves’ attention is firmly on the scarlet at Credence’s waist, the almost-cruel pull of his gorgeous corset, the spill of budding tits above, nipples swollen and begging for attention. 

 

“Do you match everywhere?” he asks idly, spelling Credence’s trousers off with a wave of his hand. Credence gasps as he’s abruptly lifted and shoved down onto Percival’s desk, sending scrolls and reports flying.

 

“You do!” Graves says, delighted. From the scarlet lace trapping his little omega cock, to his corset, to the heirloom ruby choker he’s wearing, Credence _does_  match everywhere. Even his chest matches, Graves thinks idly, fondling at a nipple reddened so dark it’s almost bruised, swollen and tender from the attentions of Credence’s own fingers. Percival’s cock twitches at the thought of Credence pulling at his tits, watching himself in the mirror until their colour matched his outfit. His naughty little omega. To think, Credence once worried he was _wicked_. Two-day-mated Credence really had no idea.

 

“Let’s see if we can’t get that cunt to match as well,” Graves says, though it comes out more like a growl. “Would you like that, my dear?"

 

“Please!"

 

Credence does beg so prettily, Graves thinks, freeing his dick from his trousers and pulling those pretty lace panties to the side so he can fuck right in, the tight, wet clench of Credence’s cunt welcoming him in like it hasn’t been fucked in weeks instead of the hours it’s been since this very morning.  Credence moans and squirms underneath him, and Graves snarls, reaches down to pin Credence’s arms to his desk, folding himself down over his omega. His chest rubs at Credence’s cock, still trapped in scarlet lace, every time he thrusts in, fast and hard in the way Credence has come to love, wrapping his legs around Percival and holding on.

 

He fucks in and out mercilessly, taking out the frustrations of the day on the wonderfully pliant omega beneath him, his little mate who gets slick at the barest hint of attention, always so eager to please.

 

"Look, Credence," he purrs, touching the rune on his desk that activates the peep-charm on his office wall. "Look at all those people."

 

Credence turns his head and gasps, looking straight out over the entire floor, one the warren of desks in the middle, the offices at the walls, easily a hundred people seemingly  _right there_ as the office wall just disappears.

 

"They can't see you, my darling," Graves says, "but what if they could, hmmm? Oh, what my Aurors would say, how they'd gossip about my pretty omega, all tarted up and matching his tits with his panties, being fucked on the Director's desk."

 

"Would they - would they be jealous?"

 

"They already are," Percival growls. "But I'm the only one who gets to see you like this," he says, punctuating the statement with a particularly hard thrust, "who gets to fuck this lovely cunt of yours."

 

"Yours, alpha!" Credence bares his throat, showing where his bond bite peeks up over the obsidian and ruby choker that's Graves' favourite. And, of course, Graves has to reward that kind of behaviour with a suck at his bonding gland, teeth digging in to the edges of his mark.

 

Credence is pleading under his breath, lost in pleasure, chasing his own release, and he spills in his panties only moments before the clenching of his orgasm coaxes Percival’s knot, and his alpha comes with a roar.

 

Credence drowses on his knot for a good ten minutes or so before Graves cleans him up and sets him to rights. “I think you’d better Floo home, my dear,” he says, buttoning Credence’s long coat back up. “We made your scent awfully distracting."

 

*

 

Credence wears a heavy heirloom wedding ring that protects him from anyone seeing inside his head, but Queenie Goldstein has taken to him regardless, and often catches him on his way up to send on a coffee for Percival, just the way he likes it. Queenie, a rare natural Legilimens, is one of Graves’ best employees - she could work the tea cart in her sleep, but her real job title is secret, and she reports directly to the Director of Magical Security, keeping an ear on employees and citizens alike. 

 

Credence is holding a steaming mug on the day Tina Goldstein, earnest and utterly frustrating, opens her mouth too soon. Graves, who’s been observing the DMLE through the peep-charm on the wall, sees it happen.

His omega has skirted the bullpen, has politely greeted the leader of Squad 3, and even inquired about his pregnant wife, but isn’t going to make it to Graves’ office without being stopped. Credence comes bearing coffee and a deliciously tight cunt to improve Graves’ mood - he really doesn’t need to be delayed, but Percival’s omega is kind, and smiles at Goldstein, only to falter.

 

"I’m sorry about your mother, Credence,” Goldstein says in a kind tone, “I didn’t really - um, anyway, I’m sorry for your loss."

“Ma?” Credence asks, in a tone barely above a whisper. Then, in a stronger voice, “What about Ma?"

 

“She - that is - I’m sorry but-” Tina is falling over herself now, and Graves would very much like to see her face when she makes Credence crumple, the knowledge that she’s stuck her eager, do-gooder foot in her sincere mouth again, but it’s not best for his omega.

 

“Come here, my dear,” he says, opening his office door wide, and he ushers him inside, sits Credence in what has become ‘his’ chair, an armchair in the corner, protected behind Percival’s desk, out of the way and safe. Once there, Credence looks up at him with fear and trepidation, shaking, hands barely putting the hot coffee down without spilling. There’s a slight shimmer about him, an almost visible sort of wild magic, tense and expectant. “Your mother passed away two days ago,” Graves says softly. “Died in her sleep. It was a heart attack. We only found out today - I had wanted to be the one to tell you,” he said, with a scowl at the door. Goldstein hasn’t seen the report, only heard the gossip, but that could have ended _very_  badly.

 

"She - it was peaceful?"

“Yes, my darling,” Graves soothes.

 

Actually, it was an obvious case of poisoning, death by way of concentrated Venomous Tentacula extract, painful as all hell, but the no-majs don’t know that, and the full report only crossed Graves’ desk because Mary Lou Barebone was on a watch list, and as one of only two people to see it, he was quite happy to mark it irrelevant and declare no further inquiry was required. The woman was a menace, both personally and to the security of the wixen world, and if somebody had done them a favour by bumping off the most vehement puritan in close proximity to MACUSA at not inconsiderable personal expense - Graves would let it be.

 

 

“What about - Chastity? Modesty?"

 

“They're fine,” Graves lies. “They’ve been taken in by an elderly couple on the periphery of the church, in your mother’s memory.” In reality, the youngest was going to be sent to an orphanage nearby, but Graves intervened and had both girls sent to an orphanage out of state, the elder one as a worker. They'll be fine. Anywhere has to be better than in Mary Lou's tender care. 

 

“Will I-“ Credence hesitates, bites that delicious bottom lip of his. “I’m not going to see them again, am I.” When Graves is slow to reply, he looks up, a fierce look in his eyes. “And I don’t care! They said I was wicked! I have you now, and you’re all I need!"

 

“My sweet mate,” Percival croons, lifting Credence up and settling into his own chair, Credence’s long limbs curled up on his lap. “You make my life complete, do you know that? I never dreamed I’d meet somebody so special."

 

Credence blushes so prettily. “I want-“ he stops, biting his lip.

 

Percival feels the need to free that lip with a kiss, and Credence surrenders, melting into his arms and sighing when Graves pulls away.

 

“What do you want, my darling?"

 

“I want to stop thinking,” Credence murmurs, not meeting his eyes, blush now spreading down his neck, under his fine choker. 

 

_Oh_.

 

“You want my cock, omega? Want me to fuck your mouth until you can’t think of anything but serving your alpha?"

 

_“Yes_ ,” Credence mewls.

 

“Go on then,” Graves says lazily, tone indulgent.

 

Credence is almost desperate in how quickly he slides to his knees, shaking fingers opening his alpha’s trousers. Graves is half-hard when Credence licks at the head of his cock, but it doesn’t take long for him to harden fully, not with the way Credence is worshipping that which makes him alpha, suckling at the line of flesh that will become his knot, silky-smooth cheek rubbing against his shaft. 

 

His omega swallows him down, eagerly chasing the oblivion that will come with being spunk-drunk and locked on a knot. He gags suddenly, too much too soon, and Graves reaches down to trace his cheekbone.

 

“Shh,” he says, “you’ll get what you need, don’t worry."

 

Credence settles into a rhythm, taking him in all the way and then backing off, lips and tongue playing at the head of his cock before eagerly sucking him back in, fucking his own face down until Graves’ dick is in his throat. There’s a desperation in Credence that Graves understands, and he thinks idly even as he’s reflexively arching in pleasure, how lucky he is to have found a mate whose favourite coping strategy is choking on his alpha’s cock. Of course, the innocent Credence that looked confused the first time Graves came in his hand and told him to lick it up _did_  have to be led to this point, but it was done so slowly - and masterfully, if he does say so himself - that Credence thought the whole thing was his idea. Even now, he’ll thank Percival after, as if he’s doing Credence a favour by letting sucking him off.

 

Graves thrusts, just a bit, feels Credence moan in response. And really, Credence has a good life, a life he loves. He’s a perfect spouse, living a life of luxury, cosseted and protected, and Graves treats him well.

 

He tightens his fingers in Credence’s hair and _pulls_ , his omega gasping, reflexive tears escaping as he swallows his alpha’s dick, knot expanding behind his teeth, well and truly stuck now, properly knotted as Percival groans and starts to come.

 

“There, my darling,” Graves says, sitting back in his chair as his omega slurps at his knot, calm now he’s got alpha spend in his belly, his entire world narrowed to the suck and swallow of his alpha’s cock. Percival sighs, gentle fingers carding through Credence’s hair as his heartbeat slows.

 

“It’s alright. Alpha’s here."

 

Credence looks up at him with such complete and utter devotion it makes Graves smile.


End file.
